


Standing Guard Against Nightmares

by OverthinkingFeathers



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hawke's gender isn't specified, The Deep Roads, With mentions of Varric and Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverthinkingFeathers/pseuds/OverthinkingFeathers
Summary: The Deep Roads are terrible, even more so after Bartrand betrays the group. In a quieter moment at camp, Hawke attempts to reconnect with Carver using an old family tradition.





	

The Deep Roads were worse than they were expecting. 

That was an unpleasant surprise. Hawke had prepared for small bands of darkspawn, weeks without sunlight, and generally obnoxious company in the form of Bartrand. No one had ever thought the trip would be easy, but it was necessary. Without this, they had no shot at living a normal life in Kirkwall; Hawke would be in the Gallows within weeks, and the rest of the family would be judged for harboring an apostate. 

But expectations hadn’t prepared them for reality. This far underground, the air should have been cool, but it wasn’t. In the worst parts of the thaig, it was oppressively hot, and every step felt like five, sapping their energy and will to continue. Stopping for the night brought little relief; even without packs and activity, the air still felt warm and heavy. The only thing cool in the whole place was black slime they saw growing across the walls occasionally, and it was slick and smelled like decay. Even if they had been able to ignore the smell, looking at it conjured feelings of dread, and everyone agreed that it was best not to touch it. Hawke had once, leaning against it by accident, and felt unclean and sick for days. Something affecting the mind, Anders had decided after trying to heal it. They burned the stained shirt. 

And then Bartrand betrayed them, trapping just four of them in an elaborate maze of halls, and everything got so much worse. The darkness, held at bay by dozens of fires when they were traveling with the expedition, pressed in on them. The blackness, so absolute and heavy, played with their vision, tricking them into seeing things that weren’t there. They quickly learned that some light was always necessary, so they rationed their torches and the mages released a constant trickle of mana to fuel mage lights. 

The only time it was truly bright was when they came across darkspawn. Anders was good at predicting their whereabouts to an extent, but sometimes they were unavoidable. Then the sprawling rockways would flash like a storm cloud, fire and lightning springing into existence and disappearing seconds later. There was no relief in that light, each moment of clarity revealing more distended bodies rushing towards them, mouths open in a war cry that none of them understood. They had won every battle, but none of them had been easy. And it wasn’t only darkspawn that threatened them; those rock creatures, whatever they were, kept attacking, and they had no way of knowing whether or not they were walking into an ambush. 

It was no wonder everyone was having nightmares. 

They were at camp now, blankets arranged in a tight circle around the barely smouldering fire. It was Varric’s turn to keep watch. For once, he seemed to be in no mood to talk, preferring to stare into the darkness like it meant something. He had kept a jocular facade on for the most part, and out of sympathy, everyone pretended not to know better. If he wanted time to sit with his feelings and pretend Hawke wasn’t also awake, trying to avoid the vicious memories that filled their mind, that was his right. 

Anders was asleep to the left, tossing fitfully and occasionally flashing. The blue spreading rapid fire under his skin was cause for concern the first few nights when everyone was jumpy and on high alert, but by now no one interpreted it as a warning. He would be pale and drawn in the morning, but Hawke had spent enough time on watch to know it would take him hours to fall back to sleep if woken. It was best to let him be. 

Carver was far more subtle with his nightmares, any terrors he was experiencing showing only through clenched fists and a furrowed brow. Hawke wondered if they were the same bad dreams he had as a child, ones of templars dragging away half the family, or if his dreams were more current. Maker knew he had faced enough terrible situations recently to haunt him for years. 

Hawke had experienced a lot of them right beside him, but that had only seemed to drive them further apart. Carver had always felt singled out, the sole Hawke child without magic, and he had set out to distinguish himself at Ostagar. He came home changed, older and angry and relentlessly bitter to once again be in his sibling’s shadow. With news of the horde bearing down on them and later Bethany’s death, Hawke hadn’t been as understanding as they should have been. The wounds hadn’t healed. 

Maybe it was time to change that. They shifted closer, hesitated before touching his shoulder. Carver could sleep through any sort of noise, but the lightest touch always woke him. Hawke expected him to jump up immediately, prepare for a fight that wasn’t coming, but he didn’t. He simply tensed for a second, then relaxed warily. 

“Is it my turn for watch already?” he asked, and his voice was heavy with sleep. 

“No,” Hawke said. “You just looked like you were having a nightmare.” 

With his back turned towards them, Hawke couldn’t see his reaction. He didn’t respond for long enough that they began to wonder if he had fallen back to sleep, and then, “Yeah. Yeah, I was.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

He snorted. “No.” 

“Want me to stand guard?” It was an old family tradition; when they twins were little, they often had nightmares. Hawke had doted on their younger siblings and trying to make them happy, had invented a solution. When demons tried to send in nightmares, Hawke had explained, they went from the outside in. If someone bigger was blocking someone smaller, the nightmare wouldn’t be able to get to its intended target, and everyone would sleep peacefully. The twins had accepted the explanation wholeheartedly, and for years, whenever one of them had a nightmare, they would go to Hawke’s bed and arrange themselves with Hawke closest to the door, the unaffected twin in the middle, and the scared one closest to the wall. Even after they were old enough to know better and had ceased to fit comfortably on one bed, the tradition continued. Bethany had one night called it standing guard before collapsing into a fit of childish giggles because no one was actually standing. The name had stuck. 

Hawke couldn’t remember when they had last done that. It was before they had fled Lothering, at least, and the realization that there would never again be three siblings involved twisted their stomach. The offer had been made without thought. 

Judging by the way Carver tensed, he had come to the same realization about the absence of their sister. He rolled over, anger written in his face, and Hawke rushed to speak before he could. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to help.” 

“The almighty Hawke to the rescue? I’ve got it covered, thanks.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I feel like this is my fault,” they gestured broadly at their surroundings. “You’d never have been down here if I didn’t insist.” 

His expression went neutral, like he was retreating into himself. “You didn’t. I wanted to come.” 

“But if the Templars weren’t after me, this never would have come up. If we die down here, it’s because I put our family in danger.” Hawke meant it to be matter of fact, but their despair crept up under the words. Varric wasn’t the only one who had been pretending to be fine. 

He rolled his eyes reflexively. “Please. I know you didn’t choose to be a mage. It’s not your fault that those blighted bastards have nothing better to do than lock people up.” 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all year,” Hawke said with a small smile. He had grown up with an anti-Templar streak - expected, in their family - but he hadn’t expressed it in a long time. 

“I told you your aim with fireballs was getting better just yesterday,” he pointed out. “You hardly singed anyone on our side.” 

Hawke laughed softly, and he grinned at them. It was the first smile they’d shared in Maker knew how long, and Hawke was grateful for it. Pushing their luck, they brushed a bit of stray hair out of his face. His skin felt like it was on fire, and Hawke made a mental note to ask Anders to check on him later. Carver accepted the gesture without comment, and for a moment, they were silent. 

“Anyway,” he said, “I’m glad to be here. Not glad about the whole trapped underground with lots of things trying to kill us part, but Mother tried to forbid me from coming. You could have left me behind.” 

“You wanted to be here, Carver,” Hawke said. “I had no place overruling your decision.” 

“No,” he shrugged. “But that’s not how she saw it. All I’m saying is, I appreciate it.” He paused. “Don’t make this weird.” 

“No weirdness here. We should probably get some sleep anyway.” 

“Right. Sleep.” As Hawke began shifting back to their sleeping spot he said, “You’ve been having nightmares too, right?” 

“I think we all have.” 

“Yeah, probably. Must be something in the air. Look though, you can’t stand guard. I’m taller and heavier than you. The nightmares would just go straight over your head. There’s no point.” 

“I don’t think nightmares actually work like that, Carver.” 

“Maybe, maybe not.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “It always worked when we were little. That has to mean something.” 

Hawke concentrated on getting their blanket untangled. “Maybe bad dreams are just scared of me. I am pretty intimidating.” 

He sighed like the put upon little brother he was. “Do you always have to be so difficult? I’m offering to stand guard this time.” 

Hawke stopped, surprised. That wasn’t how the arrangement had ever worked before, and they hadn’t expected it. Truth be told, on some level they did believe standing guard worked, but only because they were an impenetrable wall guarding their little siblings, not because they were physically larger. It felt wrong to change it. 

But… maybe they spent too much time acting like he couldn’t take care of himself. He was an adult now and capable of more than they gave him credit for. Their unwillingness to accept that was probably partially responsible for the increased distance between them. 

It couldn’t let him hurt to let him be the protector once in a while, Hawke decided. It might not actually help, but dismissing him out of hand was unfair. 

“Alright,” they conceded. “If you want.” 

He looked momentarily taken aback, like he hadn’t actually expected them to agree, then recovered his composure and moved to Hawke’s side, deliberately lying between them and the entrance they had come through earlier. He felt like a furnace, but he was a solid presence beside them, and even if it was just for now, Hawke was thankful to feel like their brother liked them. That was worth any amount of nightmares.


End file.
